


Why the Glad Heart Cries

by CrimsonMemory



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Complete, F/M, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonMemory/pseuds/CrimsonMemory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik's father was not born a monster. He knew love once, but the tombs twist kind hearts into cruel ones. Here is a glimpse into the past of Malik's father and also how he came to adopt Rishid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why the Glad Heart Cries

He became a man three times in his life. Three times his heart was made heavy, and he knew he would never be glad again.

Yinepu, heir of the Ishtar family, became a man when they carved open his back with a hot blade, and he couldn't protest. He screamed over his gag, and he knew all the halls could still hear his agony. The whole army of traditionalists celebrate, while he lay mourning and in the throes of a fever. Yinepu thought he'd never awaken until _he_ showed up—the servant with cascading waves of dark brown hair and eyes the colour of that beautiful blue sky he saw when he entered the Grand Chamber.

He lifted Yinepu's head and dabbed a cool, wet cloth on it. He rubbed sweet-smelling oils on his back that alleviated some of the pain. He sat by his side and held his hand, bargaining with the gods to take his life in Yinepu's stead.

His father had named him Enkidu, and until the day he died, Yinepu remembered he had been aptly named. He seemed to be the only one who truly loved him when all others, even his father, viewed him as a mere tool of tradition.

Yinepu loved his sincerity. He loved even his sometimes brutal honesty. He loved how in his company alone, he challenged all the dated ideas in that stale tomb. And he loved when he was older the fits of passion he instilled in him, how he trembled and burned at his ministrations. The pair tied their hearts together in secret, united in body and spirit. But down in the tombs, their unity would never in millions of years be recognised because of tradition, because it was a sin, because he could never have _the Heir_ that way.

As he grew older and less afraid, Yinepu didn't care. Enkidu made his heart feel lighter than a feather, and he believed Wesir could never punish anyone with a heart so light.

But love kills, Yinepu learned. Friendship begets scorn. Love begets punishment. Listening to your heart—actually following what your heart advises you to do—will get the one you love killed.

He became a man again when he watched his lover die. Rumours had invaded Master Ishtar's head, but rather than let Yinepu take all the blame, Enkidu had lied. "I seduced him," he had said, "and he would not have me." He never thought he'd believe him, but even with the suspicion of the truth reflecting in his wild, violet and violent eyes, he couldn't wait to kill him. He wanted to mold Yinepu into as cruel a man as he, and what better way than slow, brutal public execution?

He seared the body and broke the soul, but was it Enkidu or Yinepu to whom he did those things?

The third time Yinepu became a man was his choosing. His father's madness was increasing, his brutality pushing to new limits. Yinepu felt numb and his heart, cold. Just sixteen years old, and he took his life, but quietly, stealing it with the mandrake he had snuck into his favourite drink.

When Master Ishtar fell asleep that night, he never woke, and Yinepu became a man. No, not just… He became the head of the clan. He was neither glad nor sorrowful; it just was…

... but being the head requires one very important thing: _the Heir_.

* * *

She was delivered to him by her father, a loyal follower of Yinepu's father and who, like the other men who turned a blind eye to his madness, mourned his father's death greatly. He admitted to himself she was lovely with her soft, round face and large, gold eyes, an earthly vision of the beloved cow-eyed Het-Heru. Indeed, her father had named her Duat-Het-Heru in the hope that she would be a loyal wife and ideal mother.

But he felt no attraction to this demure young woman, who prayed every day to her patron goddess to be faithful and to provide the heir that the clan needed, that _he_ needed to be a man.

He had no desire to touch her, in spite of her beauty, and he had no desire for her touch. He couldn't consummate your love, for he had no love to give her. No one could replace _him_ , but it was more than that. And because those confusing feelings clashed with tradition, Yinepu could never, not in millions of years, ever let it known that he wasn't a true man.

But he needed an heir— _the_ Heir. The years waned without a son, and the clan's anxiety waxed. He was the leader, but the council of men beneath him berated him. The men and women beneath them began to whisper rumours concerning infertility, that Duat-Het-Heru was a terrible wife and that Yinepu should divorce her for a more suitable woman.

He'd considered it, if only to seal their mouths with their words.

Then the anniversary came, that one day that was his self-made tradition for years. Yinepu did the unthinkable: the heir, forbidden from surfacing after his brutal ritual, journeyed to the surface—to _his_ grave.

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Yinepu stiffened at the sound of her voice.

 _How long has she been following me?_ he wondered. _Did anyone else see me?_

"Yinepu?"

He couldn't tell her where he was going. What if the word slipped out that he'd broken a law that _he_ was expected to enforce? And worse, that he was visiting a so-called criminal'sgrave?

His body felt a jolt as she touched his shoulder, and he gazed wild-eyed into her eyes. She was so damned loyal and loving—didn't she know that kind of devotion could get her killed?

"I'm going to the surface."

Her naturally wide eye grew almost impossibly wide with shock. "But you're the only living heir! You can't break with—"

Yinepu placed his hand over her mouth before her hysteria woke the others. He took her hand in his and asked quietly, "Will you not go back to bed if I do this?"

She frowned. She would have never told another soul. She already knew the trouble they were both in for not bearing an heir, though, of course, most of the rumours swirled around her. But no, she said, she wouldn't rest until she knew Yinepu was safe, back underground.

"Very well. But whatever you see, whatever happens _cannot_ reach the ears of the rest of this clan. Do you understand me?" he ended very sharply, squeezing her hand.

She nodded, and with her oil lamp in hand, she followed him down the dark corridors, through the Grand Chamber, to the steps leading to the main entrance: a humble pair of wooden doors leading to the surface.

The cold desert air hit them both and chilled them to the bones. The doors opened to the east, where the glorious sun arose, and behind them—almost all around them, really—stood the ruins. Somewhere nearby, _he_ had been buried, away from his family's tombs, alone and away from all for his false crime.

Their steps and the flickering of their flames were all they heard. That night was windless with a pale meniscus hanging above their heads. Yinepu's heart beat heavily in his chest because finally, there was a witness to his crime. But she would never tell of whom they had visited. He and she would indeed have to answer for the unsanctioned walk, for they would bring proof of it with them.

Without fail, Yinepu found his grave, marked by a single stone. It had not existed when they buried him, but he had remembered where his body was. He'd placed that stone there, carving his name so that his soul would have a place in the afterlife.

Yinepu knelt before the stone and set aside his oil lamp. He pulled off his hood out of respect to him, and he stared at the name he had carved.

_Enkidu..._

Yinepu's heart tightened in on itself, and once again, he second-guessed himself.

Was he to blame for making him this way? he wondered.

Duat-het-heru knelt beside him and took off her hood as well.

"I've heard of him," she said, "though I didn't know him well. Just in passing, really. He was well-beloved by everyone until they found out what… what happened to you."

Yinepu frowned deeply. _It's all vicious lies_ , he wanted to say. _It's all vicious, cruel lies._

With a more quiet voice, she asked, "Why… why do you come here?"

Yinepu gazed into her eyes. "Do you... do you really want to know? The truth, not the lies."

His wife nodded, and he sighed. Suddenly, before he could pour his heart out to her, they heard what sounded like a baby crying.

"That can't possibly be," she said.

They listened as a brief pause passed, and the baby cried again. They replaced their hoods and took up their lamps, following the noise to the abandoned well. Indeed, there lay a lone child, bundled tightly, crying for help.

"This can't be," she repeated. "Is it?"

Yinepu stared at the child, just as shocked as she, and asked for her lamp. Hands free, she took up the child and peeked through the bundling.

"It's a boy," she said. "All alone…"

Gazing out in the darkness, Yinepu caught the flicker of eyes, at least two pair. He frowned. "No _human_ company. The jackals are eager for an easy feed tonight."

"Well, then we can't just leave him out here, Yinepu. You know he can't survive."

"What of his parents—I mean, who were they? Where are they?"

"We're right here."

"What?" He gazed at her, blinking rapidly.

" _We_ will be his parents."

He stared at her and then at the child. He knew exactly what his wife had in mind. He frowned and said, "Duat-Het-Heru, I can't say that for certain. W-we will take him in but as to who cares for him—"

"Don't you think he's a blessing from Amun? The Father has heard us weeping, and this child, this beautiful little boy, is here to wipe away our grief. Can't you at least consider?"

Yinepu glanced again to where he'd seen the eyes, and they had already vanished. He gazed up at the crescent moon, which curved like the horns of Het-Heru, and he wondered if the goddess was watching and weighing his heart at that moment. To abandon the child after they had found him would have been cruel. And who knew, perhaps he was the gift of Amun-Ra?

It was the last time Yinepu's heart was glad, that he was a man and smiling. Away from tradition, he would have loved him unconditionally, but he didn't know that. He would have protected him the way Enkidu had protected him, but he didn't know his love wouldn't last long. The underground had bred cruel men, and the heirs of Ishtar knew love only in fleeting moments.

In his brief naïveté, Yinepu smiled, and he said to her, "Let's bring our son home."

**Author's Note:**

> **Annotations:**
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>  _Enkidu_ —named after the Mesopotamian hero, who accompanied the great king Gilgamesh on his adventures. The pair were very close companions to one another. He was killed by the wrathful goddess Ishtar, and his death left a deep wound in Gilgamesh's heart.
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>  _Wesir_ —the god Osiris, judge of the dead and protector of blessed spirits. He cared for the rulers but also the poor and needy.
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>  _Duat-Het-Heru_ —named after an Egyptian queen, her name means "Adorer of Het-Heru." Het-heru (Gk. _Hathor_ ) was a highly beloved goddess, the ideal wife, mother, and sustainer. The goddess' sacred animal was the cow.
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>  _Yinepu_ —named after Anubis, god of embalming who also attends the weighing of the heart ceremony. Weighed against a feather, representing the Ancient Egyptians of justice, if the heart was light, the soul could pass on. If sin or regrets weighed down the heart, then one would be fed to the beast Ammit for annihilation.
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>  _Amun_ —"the Hidden One," one of the Supreme gods of the Egyptian pantheon, believed to exist beyond creation. Though humanity often grieved Him, he would answer the prayers of the less fortunate, the poor, and the neglected.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ is the property of Kazuki Takahashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, and Nihon Ad Systems. The author, Danners, makes no profit from this fanfiction.


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